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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820045">Candles That Smell Like The Sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire'>pinkfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), WAYV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Break Up, Breakup Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Memories, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:07:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he needs to pull himself out of the riptide, stop being emotionally dragged around, pushed under, drowned. It’s exhausting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he wants to break up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Liu Yang Yang/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Candles That Smell Like The Sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Album names or artists?” Xiaojun twists his back and presses his chin to his own shoulder, looking up at Yangyang from his spot on the hardwood floor. His bleached hair, frizzy from damage, catches sun rays through the blinds like the moon, throwing bright stripes into Yangyang’s eyes. He’s asking how he should organize his insane amount of vinyls, all scattered across the floor, making a rug of their own. One would wonder who has the time to listen to all of that, but Xiaojun manages. At least every album five times over, and then some. He hates silence. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Artists.” Yangyang’s eyes flit down to his cracked iPhone screen—which Xiaojun complains about every time he sees it, he’s an aesthetics guy—and he’s under their mess of simple white sheets, a tribal-patterned throw pillow tucked under his arm. “So you can find all of your Maroon 5 in one place.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm, smart.” A nod makes Xiaojun’s wire frames slip down the bridge of his nose, so he pushes them back up and starts his search for AJR. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This scene is aesthetic, Yangyang thinks. Full of Pinterest projects, fairy lights, and the smell of ocean-themed candles. These candles are for summer, according to Xiaojun. It’s fresh and pretty. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The way Xiaojun likes it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And two boyfriends, scratch that, fiancés, are lazing around at 1 PM, relaxed. It would seem. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Yangyang is far from relaxed, because this doesn’t feel right and it hasn’t for months. If you scratch off the surface of their cute relationship in their pretty studio apartment, you’ll see that it’s really, just— <em>dark</em>. Dark and messy. Like one of the graffiti coated, smoke-filled bathrooms in their old high school. The lights work, but they flicker on and off, break at the worst times. They break when you’re on your knees in front of a toilet, preparing to puke your guts out in the midst of an anxiety attack. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun is a paradox, full of beautiful and frustrating qualities that just don’t fucking mix. Like his short fuse, his maturity. His cold and distant spells, his tenderness. One second, he’s sweet and romantic and clingy, cuddling and whispering sweet nothings into Yangyang’s ear. The next, he’s pushing him away, declaring that he doesn’t even want to see his face before he slams the door and leaves for days. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang is no walk in the park, either. He’s unmotivated and needy and childish. All traits that make it a damn disaster to deal with Xiaojun. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they’ve been together since junior year of high school, been engaged for three months. Because they believe in true love and fairytales, but recent late night chats with Taeil have Yangyang thinking about stability and responsibility. Maybe that’s what Yangyang needs, or at least a break from romance. He hasn’t had one for four years, and he’s only twenty. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe he needs to pull himself out of the riptide, stop being emotionally dragged around, pushed under, drowned. It’s exhausting. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he wants to break up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But not before he thinks(procrastinates), absently watching Xiaojun slide vinyls into their DIY shelf. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about the good memories first. Dancing in their living area for no reason, kissing each other silly in the kitchenette, feeding each other grapes on a soft, yet ant infested picnic blanket. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun confessed first. They were playing video games on Yangyang’s worn out mattress, wrestling each other every time Xiaojun lost. Yangyang ended up underneath him, swatting at the hoodie strings that dangled in his face, kicking at his attacker. Then Xiaojun flashed a stupidly pretty smile, saying simply, “I like you, Yangie.” That made him stop squirming, for sure. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang was the one to initiate their first kiss. Maybe the stairwell they hid in while skipping class wasn’t the most romantic location. It was perfect, though. They were sitting on the smooth concrete, sharing a pair of earbuds while Yangyang snuggled his cheek against Xiaojun’s shoulder. The song they were listening to was all about <em>kissing</em> and Yangyang acted on whims. He tapped Xiaojun’s shoulder and surprised him with a peck as soon as he turned his head. Of course it turned into more, wet lips, sneaky tongues, and Yangyang on Xiaojun’s lap. It probably would’ve gone way too far if a teacher hadn’t caught them. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then there was the time they realized they were in love. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was during the summer after they graduated. The air conditioner was broken, but that didn’t stop them from clinging all over each other, feet tangled in Xiaojun’s cheap gray sheets. Yangyang was essentially a koala, arms and legs wrapped around Xiaojun’s body, sweaty forehead pressed against his bare pecs. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Xiaojun asked. Of course it was hot, that was obvious. But he sounded like he was reaching some revelation, so Yangyang hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s like, I would be miserable and grumpy right now, because the air conditioner is broken and I’m all sweaty. I’m not, though. Not grumpy, I mean.” He started playing with Yangyang’s hair, twirling the damp locks between his fingers. “Because, like, you’re here and you’re pretty and cozy and <em>mine</em>. And you could be at home right now with good air conditioning but you came over to be with me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re more important than air conditioning,” Yangyang explained, starting to rub circles into the moist skin on Xiaojun’s back. “I can live without air conditioning.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun made a happy little sound, almost a giggle. “You can’t live without me?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Yangyang propped his chin onto Xiaojun’s chest, looking into those warm brown eyes and smiling fondly. He meant it at the time, because he was young and stupid and his brain-to-mouth filter didn’t exist yet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s bold,” Xiaojun commented, but he still held an ecstatic smile. “I’m in love with you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so was Yangyang. In love. “I’m in love with you, more.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t make sense.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shhh.” Yangyang’s finger was pressed against Xiaojun’s lips. “Don’t ruin the moment. Just kiss me, stupid.” Which he did, until their lips were sore. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Half a year later, they moved in together. They both had minimum wage jobs, so a studio apartment was all they could afford. It was cozy and nice-looking, thanks to thrifting and Xiaojun’s excellent taste in interior design. Of course Yangyang wanted a cat as soon as they were settled in. And Xiaojun couldn’t say no, so there they were, cuddling on their small couch, making room for Levine in Yangyang’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My boys are so cute,” Xiaojun said. He was rubbing circles into Yangyang’s hips, kissing at his neck. The kisses got lower and lower, down Yangyang’s chest and onto Levine’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, cheater!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun chuckled and smoothed his hand down the orange fur of Levine’s back. “Jealous of a cat, baby?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re mine. And so is the cat. Only I give him forehead kisses.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Little brat,” Xiaojun said, playful, attacking Yangyang with kisses and making the cat slink away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And three months ago, Xiaojun proposed. On a bridge at the park, looking down at the dancing orange and white that was a group of koi fish. Yangyang was babbling about how pretty the fish were when Xiaojun weaved his fingers into his, sliding his hand into his own jean pocket and pulling out a ring. A plain silver band that glinted in the light, catching Yangyang’s eye, so he put a pause on his rambling to ask, “what’s that?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yangyang, baby.” In Xiaojun’s eyes, lurked nothing but love and adoration. He pulled Yangyang’s hand up to his lips, kissing each of his fingers. Yangyang felt lightheaded, in a good way. Like air. Air that smelled like Xiaojun’s ocean themed candles. “I can’t imagine myself with anyone else. I want to wake up to your cute little snores every morning, and make you pancakes when you’re sad until I forget how, and listen to your adorable rants until my ears fall off. You’re my everything. My love, I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun almost dropped the ring into the water, because Yangyang launched himself at him, hugging him tight and tearing up, chanting “yes, yes, <em>yes!</em>” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Twenty years old might have been too young for an engagement, but they were in their own world, still sucked into the belief of true love, that they could overcome anything because they loved each other. That they would stay together forever. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That Yangyang wouldn’t be thinking about breaking it off right now, scrolling through his Instagram feed, not really looking at anything that slides past his eyes. He’s out of focus, hand starting to tremble. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m taking a break,” Xiaojun declares. The mattress dips and an arm is draped around Yangyang’s waist, warm breath on the back of his neck. Xiaojun isn’t helping his own case right now. A good boyfriend would know that Yangyang is feeling off, wouldn’t he? He would be kissing all over him and cradling him in his lap and asking if he’s okay over and over. Xiaojun wouldn’t. It stings a little, Yangyang’s eyes sting. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, Xiaojun’s warmth and the tingling on the back of Yangyang’s neck will just make him forget about it, fall into another cycle of sex and cuddling and fights. So he wills himself to think about the bad memories. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about the times it hurt. Yelling and throwing shit, arguing in front of their friends, crying in the school bathroom for hours. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first time their relationship brought tears, Yangyang was sitting alone in his room, curled into his blankets with a pit in his heart. He was especially needy for attention, and his new boyfriend had been distant for weeks. His phone buzzed against his thigh, he checked, and his heart sank when it was just another useless Twitter notification. Not Xiaojun. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t help himself, tapping on Xiaojun’s name and holding the phone to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Xiaojun, you don’t like me anymore, do you?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An exasperated sigh sounded from the other end, accompanied by the crinkling of a chip bag. “I like you. Why are you even asking?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You just don’t talk to me anymore, and you always pretend that you’re busy and it hurts.” Yangyang’s own words hit him deep, making him suck in a sob and wipe at the tear that rolled down his cheek. He felt ridiculous then. Overly dramatic and emotional. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yang, come on. That’s so annoying. I told you that I like you like seventy eight times already. You’re just, like, clingy, okay? I need space sometimes, and— are you crying?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sure enough, Yangyang was bawling into his hand, warm tears already running down his forearm. “No I’m n-not.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, Yangyang. Grow up. Call me when you can talk like a normal person.” <em>Beep beep. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang didn’t call him for a week.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Xiaojun started acting normal again, like nothing happened. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their arguments got more serious when senior exams and job hunts were pressing on their shoulders. An especially bad one happened while Xiaojun was driving Yangyang home from his place. The music was off and their mouths were shut. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Back in Xiaojun’s room, Yangyang had asked why Xiaojun wouldn’t tell his parents they were dating. His parents were pretty young, were completely okay with LGBTQ+ and the likes, so Yangyang had pressed until Xiaojun got an attitude. Yangyang never handled his attitudes well, so he asked Xiaojun to take him home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you embarrassed by me?” It cut the silence, as Yangyang’s blurts always did. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He counted. Eleven seconds. Then Xiaojun let an exhausted huff out of his nostrils, trying to loosen some steam to no avail. He exploded on Yangyang, his voice in a hard yell. “Why do you always ask shit like that? You don’t fucking trust me. Always up my ass and you think I have <em>time</em> to be embarrassed by you?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There Xiaojun went, making Yangyang feel childish and emotional again. He didn’t want to deal with it. At all. “Stop the car.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He obliged, slamming on the brakes and making the seatbelt lock up against Yangyang’s chest. It was removed in the next second, the door popped open, and Yangyang stumbled out, losing a slide in the floorboard. He didn’t care. He slammed the door shut and started walking, rough pavement digging into the sole of his foot. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine. Walk home, bitch. Take your shoe,” the shoe that hit Yangyang in the head shortly after. Xiaojun threw it at him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slipped it on and stuck his middle finger up at the dark green Honda that was driving away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Five minutes later, the same Honda was driving slow next to him, window rolled down. “Yangyang, get in the car. There are wolves out here.” His voice was still hard and stern. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang ignored it, kept walking, arms crossed over his chest. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I swear to fucking god, Yang. Get in.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still didn’t comply. So Xiaojun stopped the car, got out, and grabbed Yangyang, forcing him to the passenger side and roughly shoving him into the seat. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fights didn’t end when they got older and moved in together. They had more things to fight about. Rent, the cat, personal space. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang can’t even recall why Xiaojun got so fed up that he stayed with his parents for a week. It was lonely, miserable, and his boyfriend wasn’t fucking there for him. That’s when Levine got sick and died, and Yangyang had to drive him to the vet alone, cry in the waiting room alone, hear the bad news alone. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course, when Xiaojun got back and there was no cat, it was Yangyang’s fault. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was what their last argument was about. Two weeks ago. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now Xiaojun is spooning him, sprinkling sweet kisses on the back of his neck and acting like none of their fights ever happened. His lips are gentle, feather-light on Yangyang’s skin, like butterflies landing and flying away and landing again. Yangyang’s phone is off now, laying screen-down next to his thigh, only 4% battery. So he stares at the succulent on the nightstand, eyes glossy and unfocused. His body is tense. Xiaojun doesn’t notice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Again, this scene is aesthetic. The rust-colored brick wall that separates their bed from the kitchenette twinkles with the fairy lights that always stay on, because ‘atmosphere is everything.’ A series of strings have polaroid photos clipped to them, showing off their beach trips and their cat and their pretty faces. Two fiancés are under messy white sheets, spooning and looking pretty in their loungewear(Yangyang’s his boxers and a plain white t-shirt, Xiaojun’s a tank top and gray sweats). Xiaojun’s pretty voice caresses Yangyang’s ears like honey, he’s humming to an old song, probably from somewhere in the 60s. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, if atmosphere is everything, as Xiaojun always says, he should be able to sense that the atmosphere is off. He should. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang’s mind is in the dark. Plunged back into a dim school bathroom, where he once cried in the stalls. That’s the darkest place in his mind, probably. It always stuck with him, maybe it was haunted. It haunts him. Perhaps because it was his go-to spot for breakdowns and fits over his unstable boyfriend. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The point is, it’s dark. It feels like he doesn’t fit into the pretty scene he’s in. Some of the polaroids over his head should show his tears, the dent in the hood of his car from Xiaojun’s fist, the broken glass all over the floor from their first fight in the apartment. But when Xiaojun says ‘atmosphere is everything,’ he means that looks are everything, and he pushes the dark moments into a stuffed closet and pretends they aren’t there. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang wonders if he even feels real to Xiaojun, or if he’s just a pretty accessory to his aesthetic life. What is he? What is he if not Xiaojun’s fiancé? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His downward spiral of thoughts has a warm tear sinking down his cheek, a whine stuttering in his throat. Then he’s being scooped into the warmth of Xiaojun’s lap, wet cheek pressing into the soft fabric of his tank top. “Baby, what’s wrong?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It should calm him down, but it doesn’t. His heart is pounding in his chest at the feeling of Xiaojun’s loving hands rubbing him into heaven, soothing caresses to his face, his arms, his back. He’s falling in love again, so hard that it fucking hurts, for the hundredth time. He can’t let himself fall again. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let go,” Yangyang demands, throat trembling around his words. He squirms and cries and Xiaojun does as he says. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did I do something?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know!” Yangyang has his knees to his chest, curling into himself and feeling nausea rush through his ribs. His breath comes in short, fast puffs, and his tongue rests numb in his mouth. The riptide is sucking him under again, filling his lungs with heavy water and his chest burns. He’s drowning. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Deep breaths, baby, please.” Xiaojun is gentle and tender right now, genuine concern crinkling the skin between his eyebrows, hands twitching with the need to hold Yangyang. It’s beautiful and sweet, but he could just as easily be yelling with clenched fists, telling Yangyang to stop being so emotional. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a few long minutes and a glass of water from Xiaojun, but Yangyang calms down. He sits on the end of their bed, head down. Xiaojun has his back against the headboard, his waist underneath the sheet, and his arms crossed over his chest. Expectant. He’s waiting for Yangyang to explain the outburst. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The air is charged, heavy. It’s surprising that flames still thrive on the wick of a sandalwood and sea salt candle. If Yangyang were a flame, he thinks he would be whisked away by the air now, turned into a puff of ocean scented smoke under the slightest invisible pressure. He sucks in a breath and tilts his head up, looking into Xiaojun’s sparkling eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Us, I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anger flickers in the swirling warmth of Xiaojun irises, but it leaves quickly, and the glittering brown cools, saddens. The muscles of his neck flex as he clenches his jaw. “You want to break up?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hearing the words from his mouth makes it so tangible, really sinking into the pit of his stomach like a rusty anchor. He gulps, nods, tries to keep the oncoming tears at bay. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do I hurt you?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>know</em> you hurt me, Jun. You left for an entire week, then you came back and started screaming,” Yangyang says, wiping his sweaty palms off on his, borrowed from Xiaojun, t-shirt. Xiaojun opens his mouth, anger bubbling its way back into his eyes, but Yangyang speaks again before he can. “Don’t try to explain yourself. I don’t want to argue right now. I want to leave. I don’t want to deal with you anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun looks away, looks back into Yangyang’s eyes, lets out a huff. His eyes are starting to redden. “I can’t—“ he swallows, “Yangie, please. I’m sorry. Can you think about this? Please?” There’s wild desperation in his face, his voice, but it can be wild anger tomorrow, so Yangyang tries not to let it sway him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been thinking about it. Taeil and Doyoung never fight—“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Taeil and Doyoung are twenty six! They have their shit together.” Xiaojun brings his palm to his forehead, rubs it, slips his thumb and forefinger onto the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up against his eyebrows. “I take you on dates, I make you breakfast, I tell you that you’re pretty. What do you want?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang looks up at the ceiling to blink the wetness away. “I want to break up.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Swimming out hurts a lot more than letting the current tug him around, strain on his entire body, choking on the memories that flood his lungs. It’s okay, though. If he swims hard enough, he’ll find himself laying on warm sand, resting, soaking in the sunlight. He needs to make it out. Xiaojun’s just trying to push his head underwater, but he doesn’t want to be the weaker one. Not anymore. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The glint of a tear streaks Xiaojun’s cheek, but he swiftly wipes it away with his thumb. “Okay,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I won’t force you to stay. I get it.” He still keeps his eyes on Yangyang’s, open with his tears. He isn’t usually like this, and Yangyang wishes he wasn’t right now, because seeing tears in his lover’s eyes weakens his bones, makes him want to reach out and hug him and tell him he’ll stay. Yangyang, who sees the good in everyone, sees a young adult who’s struggling with his own brain, trying to navigate his emotions and trying to show his boyfriend the affection he needs. He looks lost. He’s never been found. Not even with Yangyang, and maybe that’s why this needs to end. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun takes a deep breath and sits up straight, tugging at the sheet that’s under Yangyang’s bottom. “Please, just let me <em>touch you</em> one last time.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a request that has Yangyang’s breath catching in his throat. He wants Xiaojun to touch him one last time, he wants Xiaojun to touch him a hundred last times, but he can’t let his impulses take over. Xiaojun’s intention could be a sweet hug to commit to memory before Yangyang leaves, or it could be a mind game, a tactic that’ll keep Yangyang underwater. Whatever it is, he doesn’t need it to hurt more than it already does when he leaves Xiaojun’s arms another time. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Xiaojun inhales shakily, looks at Yangyang <em>so</em> desperately. And the familiar irresponsible voice in Yangyang’s head whispers a devious ‘act on your whims, baby, it won’t hurt until later.’ So he gives in, and he’s scrambling over the seemingly vast sea of bedsheets between them, straddling Xiaojun’s lap and looping his arms around his neck. “Just for a little bit. Hold me.” His voice is just a whisper, muffled against Xiaojun’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s warm. Xiaojun has his hands pressed against Yangyang’s back, pulling him closer, <em>closer</em>. He’s sturdy, cozy, he smells like home and the Dior that Yangyang bought him for Christmas. The current slows, heats up, and the water is calm, letting Yangyang drift peacefully in the gentle and comforting rock of waves. It’s safe and it’s dangerous and Yangyang needs to swim away while he can, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to cling tighter, embedding Xiaojun’s scent into his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stay,” Xiaojun pleads, collecting handfuls of Yangyang’s shirt in his fists. His voice is still broken and weak. A rush of emotion washes over Yangyang, tingly and intense and gut-wrenching. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t. You’ll get distant again. It hurts so much.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll get therapy.” It’s desperate. Xiaojun doesn’t open up about himself, not to Yangyang, and especially not to therapists. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You hate therapy.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll do anything.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop. You’re making this harder. This is probably the last time you’ll hold me, enjoy it,” Yangyang says, but there isn’t any bite in it, and the ‘probably’ hangs in the air, making him want to suck it back into his lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang feels Xiaojun pushing back on his waist, so he scoots back to face him. What a terrible idea that was. Now he’s staring at the angelic face he’s never stopped adoring. High cheekbones, intense brow, pretty eyes shining under thick lashes. The sun plays on his skin like it belongs there, making it glow all beautiful and flawless, somehow brighter than the platinum blond locks messily pushed off of his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, sickeningly sweet and genuine. It brings Yangyang’s attention to his lips. The lips that are visibly soft and the prettiest shade of pink, that Yangyang knows the feeling of better than sun on his skin. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They inch closer, Yangyang’s hands creep over Xiaojun’s nape, and his heart stutters in his chest as they tentatively brush lips. It’s dangerous, and Yangyang should be pulling away, but he closes in and kisses him. It feels just like the first time, electric and velvety and mind blowing. Until Yangyang’s nose pushes against the lens of Xiaojun’s glasses and forms a smudge, so they both scramble to get them off and chuck them onto the nightstand. Just like the first time, it escalates. Soft caresses of lips turns into tongue slips and sucking, and Yangyang holds onto Xiaojun’s hair to ground himself. He’s in no rush to pull away, because once he does he’ll have to face the consequences and the tears and Xiaojun begging once again for him to stay. Life would be so much easier if he could just kiss Xiaojun forever, feel his lips against his own instead of hearing harsh words from them. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Xiaojun pulls away for a second just to whisper, “beautiful,” before Yangyang whines and dives in again, desperately dipping his tongue into his mouth and sweeping it under Xiaojun’s, sliding it across the ridge of his teeth, wet and hungry at the taste of sweet tea and Xiaojun. The warm hands on his waist tremble, hesitate, then they grip and rub and travel under Yangyang’s shirt, sizzling against the nerves on his skin. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun starts pulling Yangyang’s hips forward against him, pushing them back, pulling them in again, urging him to roll his hips, and the heaviness in his core—like a magnet which begs to be tacked to a refrigerator that’s a centimeter away, said refrigerator being Xiaojun—has him complying, slowly rolling his hips back and forth, rocking them over Xiaojun’s crotch. He feels Xiaojun underneath him, worked up inside his sweats, filling out against Yangyang’s bottom. It has him thinking about their sex, breath shuddering into the kiss, sighs letting pleased sounds ride the air from his lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun’s lips slip down Yangyang’s chin, over the pulse in his neck, where he stops and places open-mouthed kisses to the delicate skin. He suctions his lips on, pulling a red mark to the surface and laving the moist surface of his tongue over it. The action makes Yangyang jolt in his lap, arching, pressing his abdomen against Xiaojun’s, mouth falling open as a soft “oh” slips out. Then the suddenness makes his brain sound alarms, red flashing behind his eyes, and that has him pushing against Xiaojun’s chest with his hands, shivering breaths vibrating against the tongue that’s now licking at his neck. “Oh, Xiaojun. We shouldn’t.” It’s winded, half-hearted. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just one last time, my love. Don’t leave without letting me feel you and worship you again, please <em>don’t</em>.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears again, voice breaking and sobs clawing at his throat. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Guilt swims in Yangyang’s stomach like a tangled group of eels, stirring his insides and making him feel sick. Now he’s hurting Xiaojun, which should seem fair, like slashing a single group of tally marks next to Xiaojun’s hundred, but this isn’t a game. It’s love. If it were a game, Yangyang would be losing, but he’s swimming against the current, not giving up. The thing is, he doesn’t want to be hurtful. He wants to make it up to Xiaojun in any way he can, even if that means spending another few moments in his arms, under his slim frame, tangled in his limbs, like fighting a string of kelp on his journey to the surface. A setback. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he, an easily waned boy, melts into Xiaojun’s lap, lets him mouth at his clavicle, slides his hands down his abdomen and thumbs at skin under the hem of his tank top. “One last time,” he agrees. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun lifts Yangyang’s shirt over his head and lets it fall onto the bed, eyes traveling his body, silently praising the way the bones of his hips roll under skin as he continues to rock his hips restlessly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang’s eyes slip shut and he bites his lip, shivers, clutches onto the hem of Xiaojun’s tank top. He feels something wet tease at his nipple, a kiss against it, teeth tugging at it, making the pink flesh rise and harden. Hands knead his thighs, rub them, tug on them as if Yangyang could get any closer than he already is. It’s all so overwhelming at a time like this, especially when Xiaojun stops sucking at his nipple with a lewd, wet suction sound, rubbing at it with his thumb as he mutters words like <em>pretty, soft, beautiful</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Yangyang is fighting Xiaojun’s tank top off, opening his eyes to praise him while he still can. And it’s so easy to praise him when he looks like this. Eyelashes fluttering and shiny with tears, cheeks hinting at a rosy flush, muscles flexing in his arms as he gets his hands on any parts of Yangyang that he sees. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang brings his hand up to Xiaojun’s shoulder, trails the pads of his fingers down his smooth skin, feeling tears sting his eyes as he watches the shiny metal band on his finger make a trip over Xiaojun’s body, the way it has so many times before. He leans down, makes Xiaojun’s stomach flinch as his bangs feather over it, presses worshipping kisses to his lower abdomen, around his navel, across the top of his waistband. He moves up again, kissing along the way, until his lips are on Xiaojun’s shoulder and his hands are in his hair again, gently playing in the fried locks, making them frizzier. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s held tight against Xiaojun’s body, turned around and placed on his back. The familiar sheets are warm with Xiaojun’s body heat, and the feeling of them is heartbreakingly comfortable against his skin. Xiaojun hooks his fingers under Calvin Klein’s name, so Yangyang lifts his hips up, makes it easier for him to slip his boxers down his legs and drop them onto the floor. He receives wet kisses to his inner thighs, arches against the mattress and spreads his legs wider, silently begging for more as shaky breaths rattle between his lips. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Xiaojun is stroking him, tenderly, slowly, sending hot pleasure down to Yangyang’s toes. He twitches against Xiaojun’s palm, curls and uncurls his toes, sighs his name. Xiaojun looks like heaven between his legs, staring into his eyes with emotion, still holding back tears and biting his lip to do so. He sniffles, lets gravity steal a tear from his eye, brings his lips to Yangyang’s tip and kisses it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, how Xiaojun manages to look so beautiful with a tear dripping down his cheek, parting his lips and licking at Yangyang’s slit. He sinks his head down, takes Yangyang into the wet heat of his mouth, moves the flat of his tongue in sinful circles against the underside of his cock. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feeling is sticky-warm, urging drops of precum from Yangyang’s dick, making him squirm and whimper, clutching at the sheets. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s almost surreal, knowing that Xiaojun’s mouth is on his cock for the last time, that he won’t feel it again after this, so he commits it to memory, closes his eyes and focuses on each sensation over his sensitive, pink flesh. Xiaojun starts moving his head up and down and sucks, applies the perfect amount of pressure with his hand at the base. It feels like his orgasm is sneaking down his abdomen, so he cries out and tugs at Xiaojun’s hair, seeing his ring glint in the sunlight with a heavy heart. “Stop. Gonna cum.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun slurps and licks as he pulls it out, kisses the head more, not minding the spit that sticks and stretches into glistening strands. He ends up between Yangyang’s legs again, reaching across the bed to tug the beside drawer open and pull out a light pink tube. It’s put aside for now, Xiaojun taking Yangyang’s hands and interlocking their fingers, pressing them into the mattress beside his head. The sweet gesture has his heart plunking in his chest, hitting the back of his ribcage and shattering once a warm tear from Xiaojun drips onto his lip. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Liu Yangyang,” he says, soft and quiet. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It hurts. It hurts because Yangyang wants to say a thousand times, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you!’ But he’s isn’t done fighting. He wants to make it out. All he can bring himself to say is “I shouldn’t love you.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Xiaojun’s face scrunches up, like he just got a punch to the gut, and tears gush from his eyes, trailing over his cheeks and falling off of his chin, wetting Yangyang’s neck. The sight strikes at his tear ducts, sends him into a fit of tears that’s almost as intense. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wants to call it off, tell Xiaojun he should just leave, but Xiaojun is flipping the cap of the lube open, squeezing it onto his shaky fingers and letting some of it slide off and drip onto the sheets. “Xiaojun, w-wait.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want this so bad. Please,” he begs, punctuating the word with a press against Yangyang’s rim. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets pleasure do the talking and breathes out a <em>yes</em>, holds Xiaojun’s shoulder when a slim digit sinks into him. It slides in and out, in and out. Yangyang writhes and hooks his leg around the small of Xiaojun’s back, tugs his warmth closer, lets their foreheads press together. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang’s face and neck are wet with tears, both his and Xiaojun’s, and he keeps crying, letting out a pathetic, pained whimper when Xiaojun presses a second finger in and it feels so good. Their wet lips crash together, salty with tears as they go at each other’s tongues and devour each other’s cries. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s messy, it’s heartbreaking, and it’s euphoric all at the same time. Pure emotion and desire pull them against each other, suck them both into the same riptide that they were doomed to dip their toes into since they looked into each other’s eyes. Xiaojun and Yangyang. The names that would’ve looked so pretty on wedding invitations, but they’re so unattractive on the universe’s list of couples who are meant to burn. They’re both drowning, but at least Yangyang isn’t alone this time. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Xiaojun, I’m r-ready,” he says, pressing his calf tight against his back, slipping a hand down his chest to yank his sweatpants string undone. They clumsily get Xiaojun undressed, navigating through tear-blurred images, scramble to get tangled in each other again. Xiaojun gets more lube on the sheets when he slicks his cock up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He buries his nose against Yangyang’s neck, holds himself steady, eases into him. The hot, wet slide makes them both gasp, Yangyang clutching at Xiaojun’s hair and back as his legs lock his body close. When he bottoms out, Yangyang sobs loud. It feels like Xiaojun is pumping heaven straight into his veins, how his cock fits perfectly into his sensitive hole. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s slow and gentle, making Yangyang gasp and sob each time Xiaojun rolls his hips into his ass. Yangyang rubs soothing circles into Xiaojun’s scalp, uses his other hand to wipe the tears that just don’t stop flowing. It’s sweet and relaxing until Xiaojun rubs against his prostate, then again, and again. He must notice Yangyang arching and moaning, stroking him slowly at first, picking up the pace, rubbing at his head with the pad of his thumb. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yangyang’s orgasm washes over him, it’s silent, he’s speechless, lips parted and legs twitching as his warm cum spills onto his stomach. He lolls his head back, breathes heavily, tries to make his last orgasm worth it and pays attention to the pleasure coursing through him. It’s like he’s sinking into his warm, calm water, salty comfort soaking him in paradise and binding his limbs with euphoria. Then he floats back up, his head breaches the surface and the air is cold. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everything hits him and more tears slip out of his exhausted eyes, down his temples and into his ears. Xiaojun’s pulled out by now, pumping his cock with his hand and sobbing against Yangyang’s neck. He feels the wet head of his cock pressing against skin in the area his thigh meets his crotch. The sobs get louder, and warm, sticky cum is coating his thigh, dripping down his asscheek. He lets Xiaojun rest on top of him, plays with his hair and rubs his back, staring at the ceiling while Xiaojun continues to cough and sniffle and cry. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he calms down, he doesn’t meet Yangyang’s eyes. He grabs his t-shirt and wipes Yangyang down, escapes into the bathroom without a word. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later that day, Xiaojun is watching tv, still hasn’t uttered a word.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While the water is still calm, Yangyang swims to shore and crawls into the sand, he packs his bags, slips his ring off and places it on the kitchen counter, leaves their apartment without a goodbye.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s when he’s driving home that he remembers what they told him in lifeguard training three years ago. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When you’re caught in the riptide, you swim <em>with</em> the current. Never against it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t matter now, and he won’t make a u-turn because of this revelation. He won’t try to work with Xiaojun and deal with ups and downs for ‘true love.’ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Riptide doesn’t even have anything to do with love. Love isn’t the ocean. It’s love. Metaphors will never do it justice, because it’s unpredictable, ever-changing, and it works with the universe only when it feels like it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Yangyang can sit there and think about how his relationship with Xiaojun was like the ocean, or he can drive away, find a beach, and know what the ocean is really like. Scented candles will never tell him what it’s like to smell the ocean breeze as he runs through the sand. Love will never tell him what it’s like to stick his feet into receding and returning waves, to slowly work his way into the water and feel it lap at his skin. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because the ocean is the ocean, Xiaojun is Xiaojun, and love is love. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so glad we didn’t rent these,” Xiaojun laughs, the stretch of his smile competing with the sun. He’s talking about their dress pants, of which the shins are getting pelted with waves that lap over their feet and splash at their ankles. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” Yangyang nearly trips over a rock right after responding, but Xiaojun grabs his arm and holds him steady against his body. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Be careful,” he says, “can’t have my husband getting hurt on our wedding night.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Four months ago, Yangyang broke up with Xiaojun. The breakup only lasted for two weeks, then they were back in each other’s arms, young and stupid, hugging and kissing and throwing ‘I love you’s at each other. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yangyang explained how he used ocean metaphors to think about their love, they both laughed about it, and Yangyang told Xiaojun that he wanted to visit a beach. Xiaojun, the crazy romantic he can be, planned a beach wedding. And that’s why Yangyang came crawling back. Where else would he find a Xiaojun who would plan beach weddings on a whim? </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re young and stupid, but they’re meant for each other. Their ups and downs are massive and crazy, but it suits them both. Impulsive and here for the ride. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s why they’re together and watching the sunset now, feet sinking into mushy sand and orange glow playing over their young, pretty features. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They aren’t scared. Whatever they face, even if it’s their own stupidity, their love keeps them grounded. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m in love with you, Yangie.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m in love with you, more.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t make sense.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up and kiss me, stupid.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, I’m gonna fall.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Splash.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>